The Highlander's Forbidden Bride(47)

“Wisdom is not easy to accept simply because it reveals the truth. Is the truth too difficult for you to accept?”

He shook his head. “When I find out the truth, I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t forget to open your heart along with your eyes,” she warned. “Now, I must get some sleep. I’m exhausted. Would you mind sleeping in the healing cottage? Carissa needs tending until her strength returns.”

Ronan downed the last of the cider and placed the tankard on the table as he passed it on the way to the door. He turned around. “There is no need to offer Carissa sanctuary, she is willingly returning home with me.”

“I thought as much.”

Puzzled, he asked, “Why?”

“Carissa is far too skilled ever to be captured. If she wanted to be free of you, she would be.”





Chapter 20




Bethane’s words haunted Ronan for the next couple of days. And was one of the reasons he didn’t mind remaining at the village Black for a while. It gave him more time to do as Bethane suggested and open his eyes, though his heart was a different matter. However, he did wish to see Carissa as clearly as possible.

Another reason they would not take their leave was that he wanted Carissa fully healed and feeling strong once again before they embarked on the journey to his home.

In the meantime, with Carissa improving, there was no reason for her to remain in the healing cottage, and Bethane suggested she occupy her granddaughter Zia’s cottage for the duration. And Ronan could make use of the small nook with a single bed that was part of the sleeping quarters but separated by a curtain.

Neither objected, and he wondered if she felt as he did. He could find any number of reasons to remain near her, but the simple truth was he did not want to be separated from her just yet.

Everything had changed, and he had to define that change if he was ever going to find peace when it came to Hope.

He walked toward the cottage, snow crunching beneath his boots, an icy wind stinging his face and his arms wrapped around a covered basket. He struggled to open the door when he reached it and finally managed to get it open, though the wind whipped it out of his hand.

He was giving it a forceful shove closed with his shoulder when Carissa stepped forward to help him. He shook his head. “It’s too cold near the door.”

She remained where she was in front of the hearth.

“What do you have in the basket?” she asked.

“All of what you need to make apple buns.” He smiled and yanked the cloth off the top.

Her joyous smile stunned him. She looked as happy as a young lass who had just received the most wonderful gift. However, he was more stunned when she rushed around the table, threw her arms around him, and kissed his cheek.

His arm instinctively circled her waist, and he held her against him for a moment until they realized the awkwardness of the situation. But instead of pulling away, he moved his mouth to hers.

He needed to taste her, fully taste her, and see for himself if there was any remnant of Hope. And she didn’t deny him. She closed her eyes and waited.

He did the same, wanting no distractions just the taste of her. When he pressed his lips to hers it was as familiar as returning home. The thought startled him, and he abruptly stepped away from her.

She stumbled back and quickly braced her hand against the table, while her other hand grabbed at her stomach.

“Are you all right?” Ronan asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

The woman who answered him was far from the brashly confident Carissa. Her voice trembled with an uncertainty that left her vulnerable. There wasn’t a time he could recall when Carissa was ever defenseless. If she had no weapon, her tongue served as a good replacement. Even when he had surprised her at the cottage, she didn’t appear helpless. She had challenged him at every turn. And that’s what made it so difficult to believe that a kindhearted soul could actually reside in Carissa.

It could all be a ruse for her to obtain her freedom.

She seemed to gain control and immediately got busy emptying the basket and preparing to bake. Like him, he assumed she didn’t want to discuss the kiss that had tasted all too familiar.

“The apple buns are my favorite,” he said, sitting at the table, hoping to dig through the lies to discover the truth.

“Mine too.”

He suddenly realized that her smile was different. It was bright as if she was truly happy, rather than her usual wicked grin. Or was it because he was seeing her with open eyes?

He watched her hands move skillfully and expertly, and it made him wonder how she had learned to cook so well. It was only one of many questions he intended to ask of her.

“How did you acquire your cooking skills?”